Socialization
by Orion'sProdigy
Summary: Mrs. Holmes just wanted the best for her sons...although, in hindsight, she really should have expected her plan to force normal social interactions on them to backfire...


**Slight AU. Based off a prompt my sister found on the internets and modified:**

**Mummy forces 9-year-old Sherlock and 16-year-old Mycroft to socialize. When she comes to collect them from a sleepover party, she finds a Sherlock who's actually enjoying himself. Also, a frightened cat, a scientific experiment, three crying classmates, Mycroft still hiding in the cupboard from their game, and an eight-year-old girl named Molly who's madly in love.**

**Oh yeah, and no one to my knowledge actually knows the names of Sherlock's mummy or Molly's, so if anyone does know, feel free to correct; we just sort of picked names and went with it.**

* * *

"Mummy? Why do we have to go with these…people?"

Her nine-year-old tugged her sleeve insistently, staring up at her from under his curls with bright eyes.

"Because we're under-socialized, brother, and she thinks this will be good for us," her sixteen year old drawled, looking supremely disinterested in the whole affair as he buffed his nails on his crisp linen shirt.

"No, because I think this is a good opportunity for you to make friends; you two are lucky that Mrs. Hooper invited you two over for the slumber party. And do try to be nice; it's Molly's birthday."

"…Mycroft says birthdays are just marks that we're closer to realizing our own mortality," Sherlock informed her.

"Well, don't tell her that. Just say 'happy birthday, Molly' and smile. And try to be nice and answer politely when she talks to you. And I'm talking to you, too, Mike."

Mycroft gave her a disdainful look.

"Must you call me that, Mother?" he sniffed. "I have a name, you know. And _you_ gave it to me. The least you could do is use it."

Sherlock frowned into the distance, glancing around.

"Why do we have to stay overnight?"

"Yes, Sherlock. And, I'm sorry, Mycroft. It's habit," she apologize, ruffling his hair gently (he scowled). "Now, come on."

"I asked why," Sherlock pouted at the ground, letting her herd him along with his brother toward the front door.

"Because I want you to have at least one friend," she replied, ringing the bell; she snatched Mycroft's coat before he could run off.

"Mycroft says friends are just emotional investments that depreciate exponentially over time."

"Well, he lied. Smile."

The door swung open, revealing a young girl of about eight in a pretty sundress; her eyes went a little wide as she looked at the three, and her cheeks turned a dark pink.

"Mummy! I think your work friend is here!"

"Molly, you shouldn't just open the door like that," another older woman scolded gently.

"Sorry…" she mumbled, looking down for a moment.

"It's all right," the woman chuckled, ruffling her hair gently. "It's nice to see you, Abigail. The boys are getting so big…"

"So nice to see you, Teresa! And happy birthday, Molly," she smiled, a hand resting on each of the young men's shoulders. She squeezed pointedly when they didn't say anything.

Mycroft gave a long suffering sigh and muttered a, "Happy birthday," with a forced smile; his mother flicked his ear, making him scowl at her.

Sherlock frowned.

"…happy birthday…"

"Th-thank you…" she mumbled, then quickly ducked past her mother into the house.

"Molly! Oh, I'm sorry… She's very shy around boys," she laughed, stepping aside to let them in.

"That's quite all right…Sherlock is shy around most everyone," Abigail Holmes sighed back as she stepped into the house.

Mycroft pushed his brother forward when he didn't move, further irritated, and closed the door behind them.

"Mycroft, is she from Dublin?" he asked quietly, eyeing Molly's mother.

"Obviously; all you have to do is look," he rolled his eyes, shooing his brother on after the mothers.

"Molly's in the living room, just down that hall; the other kids are with her."

"Come on, then, brother," Mycroft sighed, prodding him toward the room; Sherlock wandered along, eyeing his surroundings thoughtfully.

There were two more girls Molly's age, twins, and then there was another older girl as well; she was about Mycroft's age and was busy reading a book on some scientific theory to pay the younger ones any attention.

"Hi!" one of the twins greeted, perking up at the sight of possible new friends.

"Hi," Sherlock nodded, remembering what his mother told him.

Mycroft grunted and sat on the couch.

"I'm Margaret. What's your name?" she smiled.

"Sherlock," he replied, looking at the three of them closely to try and deduce as much as he could.

"I'm Maria," the other smiled, clutching a doll to her chest.

Molly remained quiet, staring at him.

"That's a funny name. I've never heard it before," Margaret remarked curiously.

"My name is not funny," he replied, frowning deeply. "It's unique. Uncommon."

"…I like it," Molly put in quietly, and the boy was slightly soothed once more.

"What's your name, then?" the inquisitive one directed at the elder brother.

"Mycroft," he replied dryly, legs crossed neatly.

The twins giggled, and Molly smiled faintly, ducking her head to hide it from him.

"Weird," the teen on the couch muttered, flicking her eyes at him once before returning to her book.

Sherlock frowned again.

"Mycroft, she's looking at a magazine behind that book. Is she stupid, too?"

"I suppose so."

The girl glowered at Sherlock, taking her things with her outside.

"Our cousin isn't stupid!" the twins cried indignantly, crossing their arms firmly.

Molly didn't say a word, gently setting the doll aside and then busying herself with a puzzle.

Sherlock looked around and sighed, glancing at Mycroft with a mildly set-upon expression.

"Are they all mad at me?"

"Well, I suppose being called stupid is an insult, so probably."

The mothers walked in then, herding the teen back inside and talking a bit.

"I'll be off boys. Be good for Mummy," she smiled, kissing Sherlock's cheek and Mycroft's temple.

"Molly, why don't you go get your game?" the other mom suggested, smiling gently.

"O-okay," the girl nodded, running off before returning with a bunch of small bags. "Do you want to play?" she asked the Holmes boys, her mother walking off with the bags for a bit.

"I like games," Sherlock nodded tentatively.

"What is it?" Mycroft asked disdainfully, arching a brow.

"Y-you reach into the bag… and guess what the item is…" she muttered, shrinking under his gaze.

Sherlock perked up slightly at that.

"This could be fun, Mycroft," he said, eyeing the bags.

"…Fine. I'll play."

The twins opted in, and Molly managed to convince the teen to play.

"Okay, who's first?" Mrs. Hooper asked, smiling, several bags lying on the ground in front of her.

"Me!" Maria grinned, hopping forward.

"Okay, no peeking," she warned, opening the bag just a bit so that she could slip her hand in.

She squealed quietly, nose scrunched. "It's wet! And cold!"

"What do you think it is?" Mr. Hooper smiled, waiting patiently.

"Um… it's round-ish… like a can… a pop!"

"Yup; that was quick," the woman praised, showing the can to them all before setting it aside. "Next?"

"Me!" Margaret thrust a hand into the new bag.

She took a bit longer to guess than her twin, but eventually got it; a pebble with moss on one side.

"Sherlock? Would you like to go?" Mrs. Hooper asked, gesturing at the bags.

He stepped forward after a moment and placed his hand in the bag, withdrawing it almost immediately.

"It's a pair of socks."

"Very good," she smiled, setting the bag aside. "Mycroft?"

He sighed and rolled his eyes.

"There is a bar of soap in that bag. No point."

"Oh… Good job… Erm… Molly?"

It took her a moment to figure out that the bag had a peach in it.

She giggled with her mother as she realized, withdrawing her hand to look at it.

"That was a good one, Mummy."

Her mother smiled.

"I thought it might be a little more challenging...all right. Next?"

This continued on for a bit, until it went back to the boy.

"Egg," he said instantly, withdrawing his hand.

"How do you do that?" Molly asked, awed.

Sherlock frowned.

"It's just…it's cool and slightly textured and it feels brittle if you tap it with your nail."

"But you found it out so fast…" she mumbled, tilting her head, reaching in to feel the egg.

"Does anything else feel exactly like an egg?" he frowned deeper.

"I can't recall exactly how an egg feels…" she muttered, ducking her head slightly.

"Can we go play outside?" Maria cut in before the conversation could continue.

"Yeah!" Margaret said, bouncing slightly.

"Okay, be careful; Anny, watch them, please," she added, getting up and going to the kitchen.

The older girl glared at the woman, leading them out to their backyard; the twins instantly ran off to play by the small pond, Mycroft standing off to the side.

Sherlock frowned and followed Molly to where she'd disappeared behind a bush.

"What are you doing?"

The girl squeaked in surprise, leaping away from the dead frog she'd been examining curiously. Sherlock looked suddenly interested as he caught sight of it and his mind put things together.

"Here. Like this." He drew a small pocket knife from his pocket and crouched next to it. "Frogs are interesting the first time."

She blinked, surprised, but crouched beside him again, watching curiously.

"…You like cutting frogs open?"

"It's called dissecting," he corrected, making neat incisions with the tip of the knife. "And it's interesting. It's for science. That's what Mycroft told me."

"…I like dissecting," she replied, almost as if tasting the new word, and crouched closer to watch intently; they used a deep shell to wash out the blood and see the organs.

"Brother? What-*sigh*"

"EW! Is that a _frog?_!"

"Huh! Anny!" Molly squeaked, whirling around; she tripped and fell backwards, landing in the water.

Sherlock sighed himself, straightening up calmly as he wiped his knife on a leaf and folded it.

"_Ew_! Oh my god, Molly! Get inside and go shower," the girl groaned, pointing at the house. "That's disgusting! Wait until I tell _Mum_ what you were doing!"

Sherlock's eyes narrowed slightly; he'd been rather enjoying himself (showing off, Mycroft would have called it).

"She wasn't doing it. I was…"

"Ugh! You go wash your hands at the hose," she ordered, pointing it out on the side of the house. "It's bad enough she tries it on her own."

With that said, she marched the younger girl inside.

"I see France! I see pants! We see Molly's underpants!" the twins sang, giggling on the grass.

Mycroft just sighed and rubbed his temples (like an old man, Sherlock would have said).

"Wonderful, brother…"

Sherlock eyed the girls irritably and Mycroft suppressed another sigh; he had that look in his eyes like he was going to do something 'smart'.

Molly hurried inside, biting her lip.

The twins froze as they noticed the younger Holmes boy smiling pleasantly at them, walking over with hands behind his back.

"I know a fun game. How about hide and seek?"

"Hide and seek?"

"We love that game!"

"Good. The way I play it, though, you have to turn off all the lights and close all the blinds; everyone has to stay inside."

"Oh, really?"

"Can't we just play normally?"

"No. It's more fun this way," he replied.

"Okay…"

"Where should we play it?"

"The whole house is game. As long as you stay inside."

"You seek," they nodded, running off.

"Mmhm. I'll come look when I finish counting."

"…How long are you going to leave them?" Mycroft sighed, shaking his head.

Sherlock shrugged.

"I assume they'll figure it out eventually."

They returned to the house after a bit; Molly was sitting on a stool, facing the corner, freshly showered and in a sweater and jeans.

Anny scowled at the Holmes boys, burying her nose into her magazine.

Sherlock eyed her the way a matador might regard a bull; she was his next target. After a while, he tugged his brother's sleeve, his usual blank expression firmly in place.

"Mycroft. I'll do the dishes for the next month if…"

He considered the boy's offer.

"…Throw in your pudding the next time Mum makes it."

"Mycroft," he huffed, glaring at his elder.

"…Fine. But you have to stay out of my room."

"Mycroft…" he huffed again, then he nodded.

He sauntered casually over to the teen, getting to work.

A timer went off and Molly hopped down from the stool carefully, smoothing her sweater; her eyes were a bit red and puffy, but she otherwise seemed alright.

"…Mummy? Can I go now?"

"Yes, Molly."

She wandered toward Sherlock, somewhat puzzled; a large tabby wandered out of the shadows behind the couch and rubbed up against her legs as she went.

"Where are the twins?" she asked as she crouched next to him to pet the cat.

"Playing a game, I think."

"Oh…" she nodded, picking up the tabby and holding it close. "…Do you like cats?"

Sherlock shrugged.

"I have a dog."

"I like dogs, too," she smiled, stroking it gently. "But Mummy is all-allergic. So I have Toby."

"Hm…" He petted the cat a few times. "…do you want to do something interesting?" He'd been reading Mycroft's chemistry text book the other day and he had a few ideas.

"Depends on what it is and if I find it interesting," she replied, shifting to hold it better; the cat wrapped a paw along each side of her neck, hugging her, with his head tucked under her chin.

"Well…where does your mother keep her cleaning supplies?"

"So then…once we turn the cap over, it should…"

"Careful," Sherlock cautioned, tucking the toilet bowl cleaner back into the pantry and taking the Gatorade bottle full of the chemicals from her; she was holding a cap full of small tin foil balls, her cat looking on lazily from the counter. "Better wait.";P

There was a rustle in the door of the kitchen and Mycroft darted in; his eyes flicked around the room and then he dove through the pantry door and pulled it closed behind him.

"Not a word, Sherlock!" he hissed.

The boy arched a brow; he'd noted his brother's mussed hair and slightly rumpled shirt and was quite confused.

"Mycroft? Where'd he go?" Anny asked Sherlock, almost sweetly, ignoring the bottle and cap Molly held.

Sherlock just stared at her; after all, Mycroft had said not to say anything.

"He went to the potty, Anny," Molly frowned, staring up at her. "Why?"

"Nothing…don't get those everywhere," she frowned as she trotted out of the room.

"…Now what?" she asked him, looking rather excited to see what was going to happen.

He took the cap and dumped the tinfoil into the bottle, dropping it into a large kettle on the other side of the room and then running back to Molly's side of the table and plugging his ears (she did the same just in time).

_BANG!_

"MROOOOOOOOW!"

The cat took off with a puff of fur as the kettle clanged from the plastic shrapnel hitting its walls; the bottle had exploded quite fantastically.

The grin of enjoyment on the girl's face matched Sherlock's gleeful smirk.

"What happened?" Mrs. Hooper gasped, running into the room.

"An experiment," Sherlock shrugged, already going to examine the remains and clear up the 'rubble'.

Molly beamed at her mother, trotting after him; the woman softened at this slightly, and sighed.

"Make sure you clean up… Be careful. Dinner is in ten minutes… Find the twins, please."

Sherlock's smirk widened at that; perhaps these events weren't quite as terrible as he'd thought.

The twins sat opposite him, glaring as they ate. Mycroft was seated beside him, the crazy teenage girl across from him. Mrs. Hooper sat on the end between them, and Molly sat on the other end, by Sherlock (this was convenient for her because she could feed the cat and she got to sit beside her new friend).

"Are we ready to open presents?" Mrs. Hooper smiled, the table cleared of plates.

"Yes," Molly nodded eagerly, smiling; Toby had leapt up into her lap and was watching it all lazily, almost smugly as she hugged him. "I would like to open presents now."

Mrs. Hooper set a small pile of presents before the girl.

"Go ahead and choose one."

Her lips spread into a grin as the front door opened, and she met the man (her father, from how similar they were) with a hug.

"You're home early!"

"Yup. Couldn't miss it," he grinned back at her, picking her up with a tired grunt to hug her properly.

Another chair was brought to the table for him, and he set Molly in hers before sitting down himself; Mrs. Hooper gave him a plate of dinner and Molly continued.

She ended up with some new clothing, a makeup kit, a new doll, and (the odd gift out) a chemistry set. Besides the doll, she was most delighted with the set, surprising everyone but her father.

"Thank you," she aimed at the Holmes brothers shyly, eyes shining.

Sherlock was quite pleased with himself; after all, he'd been the one to suggest the gift to their mother. Mycroft had scoffed at him that a girl would never like it, but 'Mummy' had liked the idea of the educational value behind the set.

Her mother and father gave her a stuffed animal and a few outfits to put on the cat (ridiculous).

"I went ahead and got you this myself…" her dad trailed, setting a thin box on the table; Mrs. Hooper frowned curiously at him.

Molly's eyes lit up and she delicately opened it (like the others) and gasped at what was inside.

"Thank you, Daddy!" she squeaked, hugging him tightly, clutching a white lab coat in her hands.

"You're welcome, Molly," he chuckled. "Now you can stop stealing mine."

The traditional cake and ice-cream came after, and then they were all moved again to the living room to watch the movie.

Sherlock was annoyed at this point; now that Molly's father was home, she hadn't spared him even one amazed glance. And the twins were plotting something to try and get him back.

_Well…I'm getting bored…could play another 'game'…_

He smirked very slightly to himself, steepling his fingers in front of his nose and resting his elbows on his knees to think.

About halfway through the movie, when Sherlock was about to go get some lizards from a tank he'd seen and put them on the twins' dolls, Molly moved down to sit beside him with another shy smile.

"What are you thinking about?" she asked quietly, so she didn't bother the others.

"A game," he replied simply, eyeing his targets surreptitiously.

"Well, lizards won't work. I'm afraid of them, but the twins like them. If you really wanna make them mad, you should do something to the dolls. Anny dyed their hair hot pink ad they cried all week."

Sherlock frowned slightly; he'd been hoping he hadn't been that obvious (perhaps Mycroft was right…*shudder*).

"…mm…"

He ambled from the room a bit later to take stock of the house (on the excuse of a bathroom trip) and decided to bide his time.

_I'll get them tonight._

After the movie was over, the twins were asleep on the couch, Mr. and Mrs. Hooper went to bed, and Mycroft was trying to keep Anny at bay.

Molly was in the kitchen (on the table), a bowl of ice-cream in her lap, waiting for him.

He broke open the chemistry set and the cleaning chemicals from the pantry and got to work.

When Abigail Holmes stepped up to the Hoopers' front door the next morning, she had to admit, she was a tad nervous. Mycroft was 'tolerable' at the best of times, and Sherlock tended to rub most people the wrong way (mostly unintentionally, but Abigail was starting to wonder as the frequency of the issues increased).

What she found when a rather tight-mouthed Mrs. Hooper escorted her into the house were three crying girls (two of whom had bright pink hair and blue eyebrows). There was plastic shrapnel all over the floor in the kitchen and living room (from what appeared to be Gatorade bottles) and a frightened looking cat cowering under the armchair. Sherlock was in the kitchen, looking uncommonly pleased as he tried to coax his brother out of the pantry; Molly was sitting on the table, watching him with wide, shining eyes.

Mr. Hooper gave her a tired smiled, simply stating, "They're quite the boys, Mrs. Holmes… Quite the boys…"

Molly got down and trotted over, holding up Mycroft's phone (carefully out of reach behind Sherlock), "You can have it back if you come out; so long as you don't let Anny see you, I'm sure she won't attack you again!"

"Mummy's here, Mycroft. It's all right," Sherlock said innocently.

Abigail apologized to the Hooper family for her boys and hurriedly herded them out, thanking them over her shoulder.

Molly ran over and hugged Sherlock, beaming widely.

"Come back next weekend, okay?"

Sherlock stiffened immediately at the contact, not seeming sure what to do.

"Erm. Perhaps…"

She beamed a bit more and released him; Mycroft was nearly running out the front door, Anny in hot pursuit.

"Thank you for having them," Mrs. Holmes sighed apologetically to Mrs. Hooper, gently herding Sherlock after his brother. "I hope they weren't too much trouble…Happy birthday again, Molly."

* * *

**Rather cracky, I know. I don't know a lot about the specifics of British culture, so anything wrong with any of my fics…oh well. I tried. :) Um. Co-written with my sister. Posted on Wattpad under her name too, blah blah…Please enjoy and review. Thanks.**

**I just wanted to say hi and thank you for reading! ;P –little sis**


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